


Waiting

by thievinghippo



Series: Wynneth Hindemith - swtor [2]
Category: Star Wars Legends: The Old Republic
Genre: F/M, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-08
Updated: 2016-03-08
Packaged: 2018-05-25 10:48:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,911
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6192076
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thievinghippo/pseuds/thievinghippo
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Five years is forever when waiting for someone you love...</p>
            </blockquote>





	Waiting

**Author's Note:**

> This fic covers how Jorgan spent the five years while the Trooper was frozen in carbonite. Just a note, I did take the names of the new squad from the data mined spoilers. But everything else in this fic is pure speculation on my part.

**Day One**

You follow her orders like a good soldier should.

You say all the right words, tell her you’ll be waiting when she catches up. Say _good luck_ when you mean _I love you, don’t leave me_. And even though this is the last thing you want to do, you do what she asks.

You leave her behind.

The second the _Thunderclap_ goes into hyperdrive you head to the command floor, pacing in front of the holoterminal, waiting for her signal. In between sending messages to Republic brass, you stare at the interface, wondering how long it will take before you’re ordered to go back to Wild Space to look for her. Your wife is the Commander of Havoc Squad, a certified Republic hero. Saresh and the senate will want her back in action almost as much as you do.

But the call doesn’t come and the _Thunderclap_ barrels towards Coruscant.

**Day Two**

You wake up reaching for her.

The bed is far too big for one person. Wiping the sleep from your eyes, you catch glimpse of yourself in the mirror. You look fucking awful and you know she would kick your ass twelve ways to Sunday if you don’t pull it together and lead the squad like her XO should. Since no new orders have been received, you dress in BDUs and head to the bridge.

Yuun, of all people, is waiting for you. “Your path and Yuun’s have not converged often during our travels together, Captain,” he says as he hands you a cup of stimcaf. “This Gand will help however required so that you may walk in harmony with the major once more.”

The stimcaf is sweet the way she likes it. How many cups have you made for her over the years? It’s impossible to count. “Thanks, Yuun,” you say, taking another sip, not even caring that it tastes awful. You prefer yours bitter, like your soul, you used to joke.

The ship receives a priority communication and you practically run to the holoterminal. _Finally_ , you think, just wanting to see her face. But it’s General Var Suthra standing at attention. You salute and wait for the order to start the search for your wife.

“Havoc is needed at the Four Winds Shipyard. An unknown military force is attacking. It might be the same as the ones you described in your report, Captain.”

“Respectfully, sir, Havoc Squad is missing it’s commander. We need to be out there looking for her,” you say, gritting your teeth.

“Consider yourself the interim commander until she’s back,” Var Suthra says. “Now get out there. We lose this shipyard and our ability to fight the enemy will be compromised.”

The transmission ends and you place your hands on your hips. “Dorne,” you say, not recognizing your own voice, “how long will it take to get to the shipyard?”

You give the order, feeling like you’ve let your wife down.

**Day Five**

In the five years since you two met, you’ve never gone this long without speaking to her. Where _is_ she?

**Day Ten**

More is discovered about the enemy. Zakuul. They claim an Outlander killed their beloved Emperor, though no information is given about who or when. You wonder if it’s her, if she’s the Outlander. But assassination isn’t her style, so you dismiss the thought.

You decide Zakuul must have her imprisoned, and when you’re forced from the field to grab some shut-eye, instead of sleeping, you dream up ways to rescue her.

**Day Twenty**

The first thing you do when you wake up each morning is check her holofrequency. It’s the last thing you do before you go to sleep. Every time you change the barrel on your rifle, you take a moment to check.

You’ve been at the shipyard for seventeen days. Seventeen days of fighting. You’re exhausted. The rest of the squad is exhausted. You all sleep in shifts, except Forex, who only breaks when he’s close to overheating.

The days start to blur. Wake up. Fight. Sleep. Rinse. Repeat. You do your best to keep up morale, but with the exception of Forex, your squad consists of living beings who need breaks fighting against droids.

And each day you’re pushed back a little further.

**Day Thirty**

You wake up snarling and practically come to blows with Vik by lunch. It’s obvious to you  what’s wrong. You haven’t had any sort of release for a month. And killing these damn Skytroopers isn’t enough anymore.

There’s no shame in what you’re about to do, you remind yourself as you enter the ‘fresher. Your body simply has a need which you’re about to fulfill. Best to get this over with as quick as possible.

Your eyes close as you start to stroke with one hand, resting your forehead against the cool tile wall of the ‘fresher. And because the galaxy is determined to be cruel, you immediately picture her naked in bed, smiling invitingly up at you. 

You push her out of your thoughts, you can’t think about her right now, you simply _can’t._ Instead you try to picture Cathar women, the only women you ever fucked before you met your wife.

It doesn’t work. She keeps reappearing in your mind and five minutes later, you shudder  as you half-heartedly come.

For the rest of the night, you don’t look anyone in the eye.

**Day Sixty**

You write her a letter. You’ve never been one for words. Actions speak louder and all that. And you’ve certainly never been one to talk about feelings. Even when she goaded you into admitting how you felt all those years ago, you kissed her instead of actually saying the words out loud.

But you need to say something now. If she’s a POW of Zakuul, they might allow her letters. It wouldn’t be the same, but at least it would be _something._ And then you can start planning a jailbreak.

You miss her so damn much it hurts. Before you fell in love, you’d scoff at those who spoke about their better half or the idea that someone else could complete you.

You understand now. And if she’s truly gone, you’ll never be whole again.

**Day Ninety**

The shipyard falls.

Havoc did everything they could, no squad could have performed better under the circumstances, fighting eighteen hours a day for two and a half months.

You call the retreat, trying not to feel like a failure. But how can you not? Your first operation as Havoc’s commander and you’re facing a total loss of the objective. A FUBAR scenario if you’ve ever seen one.

The important thing is Havoc survived and you managed to get all of the workers off of the shipyard before it fell. And now Dorne is treating the wounded while Vic is handing out bedrolls to the workers.

You think your wife would approve.

**Day One Hundred and Ten**

After you drop off the shipyard workers on the Republic Fleet, you take the chance to head back to Wild Space. You’ve informed the brass that the shipyard is lost, but they haven’t given you a new assignment.

While you can think of a half dozen places Havoc could be of use, you make the decision to start the search for your wife. As Forex says, finding her would be good for morale for the entire Republic Army, not just Havoc.

At least, that’s what you tell yourself as you stand on the bridge, looking at the wreckage of Darth Marr’s ship, wondering how anyone could have survived.

“Yuun?” you ask quietly.

“This Gand prefers to have silence permeate during a search,” Yuun says.

You’ve never seen Yuun do his Findsman thing before. You’re not even exactly sure what he’ll be doing. Your wife, of course, peppered Yuun with countless questions, wanting to know more about his people and his culture. She had a knack for that sort of thing, something you don’t.

The console beeps. Yuun entered a set of coordinates into the nav computer. Minutes later, you see the docking bay that trapped the _Thunderclap_ during the initial assault of Marr’s ship.

You think back to that day, the last day you saw her. That morning you woke her up with your head between her legs before she eagerly returned the favor. Stars, you practically can still taste her on your tongue as you remember how she rolled her eyes afterward when you started to complain about the assignment.

She told you if you were that worried about the Imps, you should join her on Marr’s ship. Be her backup.

You declined. Biggest mistake of your life.

**Day One Hundred and Twenty-Five**

To no one’s surprise, Tanno is the first to go.

“This is bullshit,” Vik rants as they wait for clearance to enter Coruscant’s orbit. You’re giving the squad twelve hours downtime while you meet with the brass to discuss tactics.

You silently agree with him - Havoc should be out in the field not hiding on the Capital - but that’s not the point. Vik’s rubbed you the wrong way since you met on Balmorra all those years ago. Back when your wife ran the squad, it was tolerable. She put up with those stupid schemes to let Vik blow off steam, never telling him she donated any profits to charity.

But since you took command it’s been nothing but a constant battle. He chafes at every rule and every order. A silent game of chicken’s started; one of you will have to blink first.

And it’s damn well not going to be you.

You’re almost relieved when the squad checks in from R&R that Vik is nowhere to be found.

**Day One Hundred and Seventy-Five**

“General Garza,” you say, not quite believing that the ex-leader of Special Forces is actually wearing a uniform again. Not to mention appearing on your holoterminal.

You’re on the _Thunderclap,_ heading towards Tatooine. Apparently the Imps are trying to take advantage of all the chaos by claiming some neutral worlds.

It’s up to Havoc to stop them.

A year ago, you would have said ops like this is why you joined the army. Now? You can’t understand why you’re not fighting Zakuul. That’s where Havoc should be.

“Hello, Captain,” Garza says. You stand at parade rest, waiting for her to get to the point. “I hoped to catch you before you started your campaign on Tatooine.”

“Didn’t expect to see you in the Army again,” you say, as bile turns in your gut, remembering how you had to kill the men and women of the Eclipse squad.

“Chancellor Saresh insisted,” Garza says primly. “And I’m happy to serve the people of the Republic again.”

You never liked Garza, not even in the beginning. You respected the woman at first, but after Rishii? The thought you might end up like her one day crossed your mind at the time. But back then, you had your wife, and the knowledge she would kick your ass if you started to head down that direction.

And now your wife is nowhere to be found.

“Once you’re done on Tatooine, I want you to come back to Coruscant. You’ve been down two soldiers too long. We’re assigning a new member to Havoc. An assault specialist,” she says.

You suck in your breath. Your wife was - _is -_ an assault specialist. You’re not ready to have someone take her place. “I don’t think that’s a good idea, sir,” you say quickly. “We’re still searching for the commander. We just need more time.”

“It’s almost been six months, Captain. What we need is Havoc at full strength.”

“ _Please,_ ” you say. “Specialist Yuun is making progress. Give us more time to find her.”

“I certainly want to find her just as much as anyone else,” Garza says. “Fine, Jorgan. I’ll hold off on assigning an assault specialist for the time being. But we will be searching for a new demolitions expert.”

You nod. You’ll welcome someone taking Vik’s place. Just not hers. Not yet.

**Day One Two Hundred and Ten**

Nar Shaddaa is still a fucking cesspool. The war with Zakuul hasn’t changed that.

You’re wearing civvies, walking towards the Slippery Slopes Cantina ignoring the gang members and sex workers and hawkers all trying to grab someone’s attention. There are far more important things on your mind.

He’s waiting at the bar, drinking what looks to be a Tatooine Sunrise. “Shan,” you say, settling on the stool next to him.

“Jorgan,” Theron says, not even looking in your direction. Better that way. Spies are everywhere, even on supposedly neutral Nar Shaddaa, and you don’t need to be seen talking with the SIS’s top agent.

You reached out to Theron a month ago, using backwater channels. Even as the commander of Havoc squad, you’re not told everything. Maybe the SIS knows more. Considering how your wife saved Theron’s hide more than once, you figure he owes you a favor.

“Standard disclaimer,” Theron says, taking a sip of his drink. “This meeting never happened, we never talked, etc, etc.”

“Agreed,” you say at once, motioning to the bartender. You quickly order a Corellian whiskey, not wanting to seem out of place in the cantina.

Once the bartender meanders away, Shan sighs. “I’ve got nothing, Jorgan. Believe me, the SIS wants her back. The Republic could use a decorated war hero right about now. If Zakuul has her, they’re not talking.”

“Damnit,” you mutter under your breath. You take a larger than advisable swallow of your drink and almost have to choke it down.

“I’m sorry. I really am.”

“What about our mutual friend on the other side of the aisle?” you ask, thinking about Lana Beniko. You can’t believe it’s even come to this, to willingly ask for Imperial help. But you think of your wife and know she’s worth it.

“Don’t even think it, Jorgan. We get caught? It’ll be a court martial for you,” Theron says. “I have… ways. I’ll see what I can find out. If I hear anything, I’ll contact you.”

You throw back the rest of your drink, wondering how to get an incognito signal to Imperial Space. After everything that happened on Rishii and Yavin, you trust Theron but not completely. Not about this.

**Day Two Hundred and Twenty-Five**

The _Thunderclap_ barely makes it into Coruscant space with the number of Eternal Empire ships in the sector. But the ship is small and swift and in the end, she can outrun almost anything.

No R&R this trip. The plan is to pick up the new explosives expert and head to Balmorra. No one’s even pretending to honor the treaty any longer and Balmorran Arms is right in the middle.

Since you’re picking up a new squad member, you decide to make things a little more official. Even if your wife is found tomorrow, she’ll need time to recover and catch up to speed before taking over Havoc again. You make Dorne your XO, promoting her to Captain.

“It’s an honor, sir,” she says, shaking your hand. “And I’ll be glad to give up the reigns when our commander is back.”

Somehow Dorne says exactly what you need to hear. “You and me both,” you say. It’s not that you don’t want to lead Havoc, it’s that you don’t want to lead Havoc like _this._ “Let’s pick up our new squad member.”

A human waits in the docking bay at parade rest. This must be Kanner. You march up to her and she snaps off a salute. “Can’t tell you how proud I am to be here, Captain,” she says.

You nod and motion for her to follow. “Let me get you up to speed,” you say quickly as you walk up the steps back into the ship. “Our explosives inventory is low at the moment. Take a look and make a list of anything you’d like to requisition. Dorne will handle it.”

The ship’s door shuts behind her. “Explosives?” Kanner asks. Your stomach sinks at the confusion in her voice. “Sir, there must be some misunderstanding. I’m an assault specialist. I know next to nothing about explosives.”

 _Fucking Garza._ You take a breath, knowing it’s too late to do anything about it. The paperwork’s already completed. Kanner’s part of Havoc squad, like it or not. “Understood,” you say, managing to sound like nothing’s wrong. “Dorne will show you to your bunk.”

Later, when Dorne sets the broken bones in your hand, you tell her the fucking wall had it coming.

**Day Two Hundred and Ninety**

Today’s your third wedding anniversary. The Republic records will say it’s tomorrow. But that’s when Forex slipped your names in the registry, not when you had the actual ceremony.

You stay in your quarters for the entire day, grateful for the day of travel. Tomorrow you’ll land on Taris and try to stop more Imperial gains. Once again fighting a battle that doesn’t need to be fought. Not now.

In your foot locker, there’s a bottle of wine from Datooine, a good vintage you’re told. The two of you planned on saving it for your tenth anniversary or whenever the paperwork was signed the first time you adopt. Whichever’s first, you said.

Before this nightmare began, it never once occurred to you that you might not get a chance to drink that wine.

**Day Three Hundred and Twenty**

“Sir, I think I need your help,” Dorne says as you enter the med bay to check in with her. “May I close the door?”

You nod, knowing whatever Dorne has to say is serious. Stickler for the rules that she is, she would never ask for a closed door meeting. “What’s the problem?”

“It’s Captain - Major Kalor,” she says quietly and to your surprise there are tears in her eyes. “He can’t do this, I’m a Republic citizen now.”

You take the holopad Dorne is holding and quickly scan the contents. Weekly check-ins, just like Dorne had when she first joined Havoc. “I’ll see what I do,” you say, feeling bile in your gut. Just like Saresh to pull a stunt like this.

But your best isn’t good enough, and two weeks later, you stand next to Dorne to support her as she starts her check-ins with Kalor.

**Day Three Hundred and Fifty-Five**

“Repeat… Do you acknowledge, Havoc? Do not approach Coruscant… Repeat…”

You wipe the sleep from your eyes as you throw on a shirt. Getting woken up in the middle of the night by an emergency transmission is never a good sign. “This is Havoc,” you say, standing in front of the holoterminal, ignoring the way the metal floor feels against your bare feet.

“Good to hear from you, Havoc.” It’s Lieutenant Mai, General Garza’s old assistant. “The Republic Army’s decided to relocate. The blockade’s gotten worse. We can’t get in or out anymore.”

“Damnit,” you say, hands on your hips. This is the last thing the army needs. “Where are we heading?”

“Eufornis Major,” Mai says. “The Senate is staying on Coruscant, though. Saresh insists.”

“Of course she does,” you say, shaking your head. Saresh is becoming a damn dictator, that’s what.

“And Captain?” Mai asks, looking down at the floor. “I’m so sorry for your loss, sir.”

Your lift your head so quickly you strain your neck. “What?” you ask, practically growling. “What have you heard?” Your heart starts beating wildly. You’re not ready - _you’re not_ _ready -_ to hear those words. Air seems to be having difficulty getting to your lungs. “Has there been word from Zakuul?”

Mai shakes her head. “No, but I saw the paperwork. She’s been classified as KIA.”

_KIA_

You close your eyes, feeling the start of a headache in your left temple. “Have we heard from Zakuul?” you say, trying to sound as patient as possible.

“No, but-”

“Then she’s still alive,” you say, holding up a hand. “Zakuul is trying to demoralize us. If they had killed her, they would parade her body around for everyone to see. She’s still alive, Lieutenant.”

“Even if that’s true, it doesn’t change the paperwork.”

“Then the brass and I need to have a little talk.”

**Day Three Hundred and Sixty**

“I’m saying this with all due respect, sir, but what the hell are you thinking, classifying her as KIA?” You stand in front of a panel of generals, including Garza, who simply look bored. You try to remember what Forex said earlier. “This will have a detrimental effect on the morale of Republic troops. Those soldiers look up to her as a leader. And as a hero.”

“Your objection is noted, and dismissed, Captain,” Garza says. “We feel that designating her killed in action will give closure to everyone involved.”

“She’s not dead,” you snap.

A general you don’t recognize, a Rodian, knocks once on the long wooden table in front of her. “Then where is she?” she asks. “Zakuul hasn’t taken responsibility for her death. We’ve had no sign for a year. We’re simply following procedure at this point.”

Pressure is building in your chest and you could really use something to shoot right now. “You’re making a mistake,” you say, louder than you intended.

“And we can’t expect you to look at this issue with any sort of objectiveness,” General Korvan says. You remember him from Quesh, and how grateful he was when Havoc salvaged operations there. _Traitor_ , you think to yourself. 

This issue. Like it’s a matter of inventory or filing a report. Like it’s not your entire galaxy they are trying to tear down, piece by fucking piece. 

This issue.

“This is not the right thing to do,” you say, turning on your heel and marching towards the door. After six years in Havoc, you have connections. Time to turn in some favors and get this decision overturned. It might take all of your political capital, not that you had much in the first place, but you have to at least try.

“Captain Jorgan, you have not been dismissed,” Garza says sharply.

You stop at once, military instinct kicking in at the seriousness of Garza’s tone. Turning, you stand at attention, waiting for the rebuke.

None comes. “Dismissed,” Garza says.

Time to go back to Wild Space.

**Day Three Hundred and Eighty**

Dengril is assigned to the squad, your new explosives expert. It took a year, but Havoc is finally at full strength again.

If only the Army would send you out where you could actually do some good.

**Day Four Hundred**

You’re recalled to Eufornis Major. Not the squad. Just you.

In the end, you were only able to stall them two months, and already they’re talking about holding an official memorial service for her. You called every in every favor you could but it’s not enough.

You stand at parade rest while you look at the Zabrack general sitting at his desk in front of you. The name on the desk isn’t familiar, and you decide that’s not in your favor.

He slides a datapad across his desk. “I need your signature,” the general says in a voice that clearly won’t accept no as an answer.

You pick up the pad. It’s the official paperwork declaring your wife killed-in-action. The pad makes a thunk as you drop it on the desk. “I’m not signing this.”

“This is a courtesy, Captain,” the general says. “We don’t need your permission. But you are listed as her next-of-kin.”

“Because I’m her husband,” you say. “And she’s not dead.”

“You really like saying that, don’t you?” the general says, standing up. “Let me ask you something. Were you two fucking when she named you her XO?”

You freeze at the accusation. That XO spot had been yours for almost a year before you two slept together for the first time. But that doesn’t mean you hadn’t thought about it then. Hands curl into fists and you force yourself to take a breath.

“That’s none of your business, sir,” you say, jaw clenched.

The general laughs, a dark and obnoxious laugh. “We could throw you in the brig right now, Jorgan. Fucking a commanding officer-

“You’re talking about my _wife,_ ” you interrupt, grinding your teeth together. “Saresh-”

“That’s Chancellor Saresh to you, Jorgan.”

You force yourself to take a breath, and even though you know air is going in and out of your lungs, you feel like you’re drowning. “Chancellor Saresh hosted a dinner for our wedding. If there were problems, they should have been addressed then.” You pause just long enough to insult. “Sir.”

“We have Republic citizens wondering why we aren’t doing more to rescue the commander of Havoc squad, Jorgan. You going around, saying she’s not dead… It has to stop.”

You bite back your response, that you’re wondering the same thing, knowing this asshole could demote you back to Sergeant if he wanted. Instead, you stare straight ahead and try to breathe.

“We’re classifying her as KIA. You have a choice to accept it or not,” the general says, drumming his fingers on his desk. “Think long and hard about this, Major. The Jorgan family has proudly served the Republic for generations. You really willing to throw all that out the window over this?”

 _Yes,_ you think. But a remnant of a conversation flickers through your head. _Better to work with the system than against it._ Maybe letting the brass think they’ve won will work better in the end. Nothing says you still can’t search on your own time.

You sign the datapad while formulating a new plan of attack in your head.

**Day Four Hundred and Thirty**

The _Thunderclap_ manages to slip by the blockade on Coruscant. You’re taking a risk, but if the Republic insists on having a public memorial service for your wife, you’re damn well going to be there.

You stare at your dress uniform on its hanger. There’s been no occasion to wear it since your wedding. You wish you didn’t have to wear it now.

You dress quickly, trying to ignore how the collar chafes against your hide. Before you put on your gloves, you make a decision and open one of the compartments of your wardrobe. There sits the wedding ring you’ve hardly ever worn. She wanted to observe the human tradition of exchanging rings, even when they aren’t practical for soldiers. Even so, you put on the ring under your glove.

Your wife wore hers on the necklace you gave her all those years ago. The first time you saw her naked, you were amazed she wore that necklace under her uniform. She told you she hadn’t taken it off once.

You wonder if she’s still wearing it now.

#

No one from Havoc is asked to speak at her service. The speeches are generic ones that could describe a dozen different soldiers. None of them capture her soul and it’s a shame so few people know her like you do.

Not one of them mentions she has a husband.

At the end of the service they declare her a colonel. She would have hated that. She already felt she was promoted too quickly through the ranks. Colonel would have frightened her, not that anyone but you would ever see that fear.

Two soldiers fold the Republic flag and your brow furrows, wondering what they’re going to do with it. There’s no casket to bury or ashes to spread. Only the formal portrait the brass insisted she take when promoted to Major stands next to the podium. She hated the way the portrait made her look, so serious and severe, when she all she wanted was to smile.

Your pulse starts to race when you realize the soldiers are walking over. They hand you the folded flag, and with a shaking hand, you accept it. You didn’t expect this. You didn’t expect anyone to go out of their way to acknowledge your relationship.

Somehow, you manage to keep it together as the soldiers salute you, and you snap off one of your own in return.

The flag stays under your arm for the rest of the day, and for the first time since this all began, you wonder if maybe the brass is right. Maybe she truly is gone.

**Day Four Hundred and Fifty**

“This Gand regrets it is time to leave Havoc, and the paths he has tread with the Republic,” Yuun says.

You knew this day was coming. Yuun’s been shutting himself off more than ever lately. Whenever you ask about it, all he says is that he’s searching.

“If you’re sure, Yuun,” you say, clasping him on the shoulder. You weren’t sure of him at first, but he’s certainly grown on you. And after five years, you’ll miss him. “If there’s anything I can do…”

“Yuun has failed you, sir,” Yuun says, shaking his head. “This Findsman has not been successful in locating your mate.”

“You didn’t fail anyone, Yuun,” you say, meaning every word. “Finding her isn’t your burden.”

Yuun nods and picks up his bag. You don’t ask him his plans, you don’t have that sort of relationship. Your wife would want to know every detail. But that’s her. This is you.

When he’s gone, you make the call to General Garza that Havoc needs a new member.

**Day Five Hundred**

You don’t have the clout to protect Dorne, not like your wife.

“They want to take me into custody,” Dorne says, wringing her hands. “Alexi is already on the run. I don’t know what to do.”

“Damnit,” you say, hands clenching into fists. Dorne is a good officers, one of the best you’ve served with. Sure, her constant quoting of the rules grates, but she’s one of yours now.

A couple of weeks back, when the pressure on Dorne started to mount, you had a thought. You ran it by an old contact, Jonas Balkar, who thought it was a great idea. “You still want to serve the Republic?” you ask.

“Of _course_ , Jorgan, but how can I behind bars?”

You make the call.

Three days later, Dorne goes AWOL from Special Forces and becomes an unidentified agent for the SIS.

**Day Five Hundred and Twenty**

The brass waste no time getting a new medical specialist on board and Xaban joins the squad.

**Day Seven Hundred and Thirty**

For almost two years now, Havoc has been fighting the Imps instead of the Eternal Empire. It’s starting to demoralize the squad. It’s not the Imps that are blockading Coruscant or building giant Star Fortresses in space.

Why the brass insists on fighting the Imperial Empire instead of the Eternal one, you’ll never understand. But even when you don’t want to, you follow orders.

Because that’s what good soldiers do.

**Day Eight Hundred and Fifty**

You look at the news with an uncaring eye. A promotion to major. Ten years ago, this would have been a fulfillment of a life-long ambition.

Now you would give it all up to be her sergeant again.

**Day One Thousand and Eighty**

Deckers, your technology specialist, is killed during an standard op. It’s been years since you’ve lost anyone under your command.

You stay up late, trying to find the right words to send her parents, knowing nothing you write will give them comfort. Especially not from you. You’re supposed to protect the ones under your command, and instead you and Dengril dug an unmarked grave on Makeb.

Once the letter is done, you make a different sort of decision. Havoc’s been without an XO since Dorne’s departure. It’s time to promote someone.

After a rocky start with Kanner, she’s turned out to be a good soldier. Dengril would be the other choice, but Kanner has seniority. She’ll be the right choice for Havoc in the long run.

You think of your wife. She’d approve of Kanner. They’d probably bond over assault rifles and blasters. You’ll use a blaster rifle when you needed, but your weapon of choice will always be a sniper rifle. There’s nothing more heady than looking through a scope and holding the power of life and death in your hands.

She felt it was cheating. But you know differently. Better to kill them before they kill you, no matter what.

**Day One Thousand One Hundred and Twenty**

The _Thunderclap’s_ been grounded. Too visible, too recognizable, the brass say. They give you an unregistered, unmarked ship, one that will be much more appropriate for the types of ops they want you to run.

It’s been months since you’ve run an op that hasn’t been classified. All against the Imps, of course. You’re desperate to make some sort of move against Zakuul, but Saresh keeps holding on to power and keeps denying every request the military makes.

It’s harder than you think it’d be, going through the quarters you shared with your wife and packing up everything. In the three years she’s been missing, you haven’t gone through her things once, not wanting to invade her privacy.

But now you have no choice. You’re not leaving anything of hers behind.

You start with her wardrobe. She tended to be casual off-duty, wearing a hoodie with a skirt. You ragged on her once that she owned too many hoodies, but she wore them all.

Laying in her underwear drawer are the few pieces of lingerie she owned, including one piece you don’t recognize. You wonder when she planned on breaking that out and try not to picture her in it.

There are a couple of actual books and holopads with her favorite music. A few weapons, now obsolete. Once everything’s packed, you’ve reduced her life to the size of a footlocker.

Some of the more important things are safe in a storage unit on Coruscant: her wedding dress, a plush bantha that her mother gave her as a child, the first rifle her step-father used to teach her how to shoot.

There will be room for the footlocker. Maybe it will even be good for you not to have all her things around, a constant reminder she’s not where she’s supposed to be.

**Day One Thousand Two Hundred and Sixty**

“Sir, I regret to inform you I’ve been reassigned,” Forex says as he comes out of the corner of the ship he considers his.

“What are you talking about?” you asked, taking the holopad out of the droid’s hands. “I haven’t been sent any reassignment papers.”

Forex raises his arms in a shrug. “Apparently the Republic military feels I will be of most use fostering goodwill and encouragement among the people. The transfer is to the public relations department.”

You scan the holopad. He’s right. He’s been transferred out of Havoc. It makes no _sense._ Forex helps everyone do their job better. He lets them sleep full nights when out in camp, instead of sleeping in shifts. He reminds everyone of important tasks and helps keeps everyone’s weapons and apps up to date.

And…

He’s the last member of the original Havoc besides yourself. If he goes, then who will be left when she comes back? You made her a promise when you accepted the XO spot. You told her you’d make sure Havoc stayed the top squad in the Republic.

And what have you done? Let Havoc stay stagnant and take your sweet ass time replacing people. When Forex leaves you’ll be down to four squad members again and that’s unacceptable, starting now.

You have work to do.

**Day One Thousand Three Hundred**

You realize you didn’t check her holofrequency yesterday for the first time since she disappeared.

You don’t know how to feel about that.

**Day One Thousand Three Hundred and Fifty**

Your new technical specialist, Torg, joins the squad. Torg’s the youngest member of the squad by far, and you decide you were never that young. Ever.

Now Havoc just needs one more member and then it will finally be complete again.

**Day One Thousand Four Hundred and Twenty**

You decide to give the squad some much needed R&R on Nar Shaddaa. It’s impossible to fight a war without the chance to unwind even a little bit. Stars, you fell in love during the war with the Empire all those years ago. Maybe something like that could happen for your squad.

“You’re coming with us, aren’t you, Jorgan?” Dengril asks, leaning against the doorway of the squad bunk. There’s no captain’s quarters in the unmarked ship, so you share a space with the rest of the squad. Walls are torn down a bit when you’re with your squad all hours of the day.

“You guys don’t want your commanding officer there,” you say knowingly. You remember those days. They’ll want a chance to complain and moan without worrying someone might overhear.

“What are you going to do, then?” Dengril asks. “Read war reports?”

That’s exactly what you planned. Open up a bottle of Rodian Ale, listen to some music, and try to get caught up on the state of the war. Seems like a good night.

“Come with us,” Dengril says again.

And because you know how things work, if you turn down this invitation another might never come, you decide to go.

#

“I can’t believe you actually showed up!”

To your surprise, you find yourself having a good time. You don’t contribute much to the conversation, instead simply nursing your drink and listening. These are good soldiers under your command. You really need to get to know them better.

That’s something a skill where your wife had you beat. She could talk to the ones under her command for hours and actually seem interested. You remember telling her about some of the Deadeye’s missions and she asked questions that made you realize she paid attention.

“Someone has an admirer,” Xaban says in a low voice.

“She’s obviously looking at me,” Torg says without even glancing in the woman’s direction. “It’s a burden having to carry around all this animal magnetism. But it’s a burden I’m willing to bear.”

You snort and take a drink of your ale. Curious, you glance in the direction Xaban mentions. A Chiss with short blue hair is looking at the table. You accidentally make eye contact, and to your surprise, she looks away and there’s a blue tinge in her cheeks.

“Look at that,” Xaban says, slapping you on the back. “Looks like it’s the Major. Good for you, sir. Go talk to her.”

You take another sip and shake your head. “I’m married,” you say quickly, ignoring the way the squad all looks at each other.

It’s Dengril who speaks up. Dengril, who witnessed all the fights you had with the brass over her classification, who’s been with Havoc Squad almost longer than anyone. He puts his hand on your shoulder and says, “Respectfully, sir, you’re not. You’re a widower.”

He doesn’t understand, you realize. He doesn’t know Cathar customs and rituals or he wouldn’t be saying this.

Cathar mate for life and you’re still alive.

**Day One Thousand Four Hundred and Fifty**

You finally have a full squad once Abbeth, an infiltration specialist, is assigned. He reminds you of yourself when you were young and wanted to make a difference. Before you understood the harsh intersection of the military and politics.

Ridiculous that it took so long to get Havoc up to full speed, but that’s one of the tolls of the war. There’s only so much time to search for new members when you’re fighting every day.

If only Havoc was assigned to fight the right enemy.

**Day One Thousand Six Hundred and Ten**

It’s true what they say: the only thing faster than hyperspace is gossip. The holonet is fast and furious with the news that yet another senator who opposed Saresh has been found dead.

Saresh has been officially out of power for almost two years, yet there’s no doubt in your mind that she’s the absolute ruler of the Republic.

How did you miss the signs back when you met her on Taris? When she was just a low level administrator trying to make an impression on the galaxy. She’s made a damn impression alright.

You think how easy it would be to find a sniper’s perch somewhere in the Senate Building and press the trigger. But you push the thought away as soon as it cements itself in your head. Decapitation strikes against the enemy is one thing, but against the leader of the Republic? That’s treason.

You’re not ready to go down that road. Not yet.

**Day One Thousand Seven Hundred and Thirty**

Today would be your seventh wedding anniversary and you’re no closer to finding her than the day she disappeared.

Stars, what if the brass is right? What if she really is dead?

There’s no doubt in your heart that if she’s alive, she’d be fighting to find you. She’d have some difficulty; all of Havoc’s assignments and classified to the utmost degree. All messages to your holofrequency monitored.

You wonder if she’d want you to live like this, in this state of purgatory you’ve placed yourself in. If the positions were reversed, what would you want for her?

Bowing your head, you realize what you’d want is for her to move on. Not to waste her life hoping for ghosts to come back to from the dead.

She’d want the same for you, you’re sure of it.

You decide to stop checking her holofrequency.

**Day Eighteen Hundred**

Seven of the Republic Army’s top military officials have been arrested. They had the fortitude to stand up for what they believe in and tried to arrest Saresh.

You look at your next assignment, fighting Imperials on some Outer Rim world, one barely worth the effort. There’s nothing you can see on the report that tells you this is worth Havoc’s time.

Meanwhile, the Eternal Empire is slowly destroying the galaxy. Havoc is a main priority when it comes to inventory and even you’ve had trouble keeping the shipped fully stocked with supplies. And if you’re having trouble, you don’t even want to think about the heart of the military, the common soldier.

Something needs to be done. The galaxy can’t live like this forever.

The question is, when will you be ready to do what’s right?

**Day Eighteen Hundred and Sixty-Five**

There are whispers of an Alliance forming, both Republic and Imperial forces working together to try to take down the Eternal Empire.

Even though what you’re about to do borderlines treason, you want - no, you _need_ \- to know more.

You reach out to Theron Shan, hoping for answers.

**Day Eighteen Hundred and Ninety-Five**

You receive a holomessage with an invitation to the grand opening of Raklab’s Furniture Emporium on Nar Shaddaa.

The squad is eager for some R&R, so you let them run free on the smuggler’s moon while you slip off on your own. The civvies you wear feel out of place and you’re sure anyone who looks at your will simply see military.

The storefront is abandoned, like you expect. You’ve come to trust Balkar over the years, but still take out a sidearm, just in case.

Jonas sits in the back corner, working at a holoterminal. “Major,” he says when he sees you. “I wondered if you would actually show up.”

He stands and you shake hands. “I can only think of one reason why you called me here. You hear from our mutual friend?”

“I have,” Jonas says, crossing his arms over his chest. “He’s part of the Alliance you’ve heard about. Says he has a job only Havoc can do.”

“I see,” you say, being careful not to betray anything. Accepting a job with the Alliance would mean throwing your Republic Army career away. But the Republic you once proudly served is gone. This Alliance… you’ve heard some of the things they’ve accomplished, like destroying the Star Fortress above Alderaan.

 _That’s_ something you want to be a part of.

“Let me see any data you can give me,” you say, holding out your hand. Jonas gives you a holopad and you see what he means. It’d be a delicate op, but one Havoc could easily handle. And you can’t even begin to calculate the good it will do, the blow it will strike against Zakuul.

“What do you think?” Jonas asks.

You can tell by the smile on his face he expects you to accept. But it’s not just your career you’ll be risking. It’s the entire squad’s and they deserve a say. “Let me talk it over with my squad. I’ll have an answer for you in three days.”

“I’ll let our friend know,” Jonas says with a nod. He looks away, and you’ve known him long enough to know he’s conflicted. “Look, Jorgan… What I’m about to tell you… Theron doesn’t want you to know. Not yet. But if anyone deserves to know, it’s you.”

You freeze at his words, wondering what Shan might possibly want to keep from you, and only one thing comes to mind. “What doesn’t he want me to know?” you say, barely a whisper.

“The Alliance… Damnit, there’s no easy way to say this, Jorgan, but the Alliance is led by your wife.”

#

You don’t sleep that night.

The first half of the night you stare at your personal holopad, wondering if there will be any messages when you check her holofrequency.

Five months. It’s been five months since you’ve checked for a message. If your calculations are right, the Alliance started a little less than three months ago. So where the hell has she been for the five years in between?

You feel your chest tightening and get angrier by the second. How could she just leave you for five years, let you think she was dead? The woman you fell in love with wouldn’t have done this to you.

You need to know. It’s as simple as that. You enter her holofrequency by memory and two encrypted messages wait for you. Your anger deflates like a balloon, leaving you feeling breathless. You enter the code to decrypt the message and wait for it to work. The first message is from three months ago.

_Aric,_

_I need to stay off the grid, but I had to risk sending you a message. I’m alive, and I’m so sorry if you thought otherwise. This frequency should be safe for you to reply if you encrypt. Please do, and we’ll figure out a way to meet in person. I love you._

The second message is only two weeks old.

_Aric,_

_I found Vik and Yuun and Forex but there’s been no sign of you or Elara. Our friend from Dromund Kaas says all of Havoc’s activities are so classified they can’t even slice into it. Are you still even a part of Havoc? Everyone expects me to save the galaxy and I can’t do this without you. I love you._

You can’t risk sending her a message back. Your own holofrequency is monitored at all times, by both the SIS and military. They don’t even pretend to give you privacy any longer. You send her a message, especially an encrypted one, and the Republic will know exactly where she is, and from the whispers you’ve heard, they’re desperate to discover the Alliance’s location.

She must of have been a POW all these years, that’s the only thing that makes any sort of sense. You wonder who rescued her and why the hell they decided not to share that information with you. If it’s Shan, you’ll have some choice words to say when you see him again.

You’ve reached a tipping point. You can follow orders and go to the Outer Rim. Or you can go to Zakuul to find your wife.

You make your decision. You don’t need to follow orders to be a good soldier.

Not anymore.

**Day Nineteen Hundred**

This is it. Your hand hovers over the galaxy map. The moment you set in coordinates to Zakuul you’ll be a traitor to the Republic.

Your entire squad stands behind you on the bridge: Kanner, Torg, Xaban, Abbeth, and Dengril. You trust these soldiers with your life. Most importantly, you’ve trusted them with the information your wife is alive.

Letting out a breath, you turn and face the squad. “Last chance,” you say. “There will be no hard feelings if you want out. All I ask is you give us twenty-four hours before you report us as deserters.”

It’s Kanner who speaks first. “I think I speak for all of us, sir. We’re with you til the end.”

You never expected anything like this. You’re a good soldier, but you would never call yourself a good leader, not like your wife was - _is._ Never saw yourself as someone to inspire this sort of devotion. They’re all risking their careers because of you.

You nod and turn back towards the galaxy map. You enter the coordinates.

If you can’t send your wife a message, you’ll simply have to deliver one in person.

**Day Nineteen Hundred and Ten**

You suit up in non-Havoc armor for an op for the first time in ten years. It’s a kit your wife picked out for you years ago, said it went well with your eyes, or some nonsense like that. But you certainly didn’t mind the way her eyes roamed over you as you tried it on.

You wonder if she’ll remember it. 

All the inventory the squad plans on bringing for the op is unmarked. If the op goes south, there’s nothing that will tie it back to the Republic. You might not be on speaking terms with the army right now, but they deserve that respect, at least.

Kanner knocks. “Contact on the holoterminal,” she says through the door.

Shan is standing, arms crossed over his chest. You want to punch the smug look on his face, but that’s no way to start this op. “So you ever plan on telling me my wife is alive?” you ask, trying not to snarl.

He holds out his hands, clearly asking for a truce. “Wasn’t my call,” he says.

You glare up at him, not ready to let this go. “What she’d say when you told her?” you ask, trying to picture her reaction. There’d be a moment when her feelings would be clear on her face before she masked them. You wish you’d be there to see it.

“Well, see here’s the thing. We’ve been busy and we really need her to focus-”

“She doesn’t know?” you ask, clenching your hands into fists. Of course they haven’t told her. They’re using her, need her to play her part, just like the Republic. Damn good thing you’ll be reunited soon so you can watch her six.

Theron shakes his head and picks up a holopad. “I’m transferring instructions on how to land on Zakuul without being detected. Head for the swamp and start scouting.”

“Fine,” you say, taking out your own pad and looking over the transmission. Easy enough. You’re amazed Zakuul doesn’t have more orbital security, but you won’t look a gift bantha in the mouth.

“And Jorgan, we are going to tell her. Soon. I promise,” Theron says.

Somehow you don’t believe him.

**Day Nineteen Hundred and Fourteen**

Kanner, Xaban, and Torg are about to hit the sack. You, Abbeth, and Dengril have the first watch. The camp you’ve set up is in a good location. Not visible from far away, easy to defend, and plenty big.

“Need everyone’s attention,” you say, standing up.

The squad looks up at once. You look at their faces and you’re damn proud of every one of them. As much as you enjoyed the original Havoc, these soldiers have become family, more than Yuun or Vik or even Forex ever did.

“So tomorrow we’ll see what the fuss is about with this Alliance,” you say. “I want us to decide as a team whether or not we officially join up. Once the op is done, we’ll make that decision.”

“But you’re staying, aren’t you, sir?” Torg asks.

You nod. Tomorrow. You’ll see her tomorrow. Doesn’t mean you’re not nervous, quite the opposite, actually. Five years is a damn long time.

You accepted her death and then she came back to life.

What if she’s changed? What if _you’ve_ changed?

But she’s your _wife._ You’re meant to be by her side, no matter what. “Yeah,” you say. “I’m staying.”

“Then so are we.”

**Day Nineteen Hundred and Fifteen**

You hit the rendezvous-point far too early. The squad is restless with nothing to do, but you order them to stay quiet. No need to set off the wildlife in the swamps of Zakuul.

Preemptive disappointment, you told her once. You prepare yourself for the worst, that it won’t really be her, that Shan lied to you, used you for his own gain. You decide to recon the area, and lie flat on your stomach, sniper rifle cradled in your arms. Bringing up the scope, you scan the area for some sign of her.

In the distance, you see leaves rustling on a tree. Instinct and training kick in and you suck in a breath, your finger resting gently against the trigger. At this moment, you are master of life and death, your rifle decides who lives and who dies. 

A shadow appears. And then a face.

You let out your breath.

And finally remember how to breathe.


End file.
